


Fear

by can_i_slytherin



Series: Lock-down Writing Challenge [37]
Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Holding Hands, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/can_i_slytherin/pseuds/can_i_slytherin
Summary: Tony suggests that they go to a Haunted House for Halloween, Pietro doesn't take it so well. Luckily, Clint is there to help.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff
Series: Lock-down Writing Challenge [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676824
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Day Thirty-Seven of my challenge and my generator gave me Hawksilver. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments and Kudos always welcome! 
> 
> Happy Reading!

It had been Tony's idea. To celebrate Halloween that year, he'd booked out one of the best Haunted Houses in Manhattan and demanded that every member of the Avengers team attend which was how Pietro had ended up in his current situation. 

To say that he was easily scared would be an understatement. He had an overactive imagination at the best of times, but when concerning horror movies it seemed like it increased tenfold. In the safety of his own home, he could control it, but in a foreign place with unknown people anything could happen. So, yes, he was easily spooked and no, it wasn't a good idea to send him into a Haunted House. 

But, luckily, Clint was there with him. Clint who was strong and steady. Who was kind and compassionate. Who would protect him, if he asked. 

But, the question was not whether he  _ should _ ask it was whether he  _ could _ because it seemed that fear had stolen his ability to talk. 

The House had been okay at first. A few bloody handprints here and there, some strings of sausages hanging from the ceilings to mimic intestines. 

It was after that that everything went down hill. He was at the back of the group, for whatever reason and he felt a gust of air, like a breath, across the back of his neck, ruffling the short hairs that grew there. He froze in his place, his entire body going rigid with fear and he gulped heavily, willing his legs to work, but it seemed all communication through his body had failed. 

"C-Clint?" He whispered, fearing that his voice wasn't loud enough for the archer to hear, but Clint turned around, a concerned frown etched onto his eyebrows. 

"Are you okay?" Clint replied, shoulders pulled back and head held high as he walked towards Pietro, every movement of his body radiating protection and security. 

Pietro shook his head, "No. I felt someone breathe on me." 

"It's probably just part of the simulation. There's no one here." Clint soothed, love glinting in his eyes. 

Pietro stared around the room once before seeking comfort in the deep blues of Clint's eyes, "Okay," he breathed, nodding softly, "okay. Yeah." 

"You gonna be okay?" Clint questioned, waiting for Pietro's confirming nod before he turned on his heel, slowing his paces so as to stay close to Pietro.

He truly believed that, to begin with, but then they'd walked into a room led by live actors and Pietro nearly burst into tears. 

It seemed like they waited until he entered the room to come to life. The woman sat in the corner of the room, on a rocking chair, sprung to her feet and ran at Pietro, her jaw unhinged in a loud scream, and he staggered away from her. His heart was pounding and his hands were clenched into fists, every molecule in his body shaking with the force of his fear. 

He took a deep breath, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to ground himself, and blinked away his tears. 

" _ Shit. _ " He cursed, swapping to his mother tongue, " _ I'm okay. I can do this. _ " 

"Pietro?" Clint's voice rang out to him from the other side of the room and Pietro lifted his head, plastering on a fake smile as he forced himself to cross the room, keeping a watchful eye on the woman in the corner. 

"I'm fine." He rasped, accent thicker with emotion, and entered the next room with Clint a few steps ahead of him. He froze on his first step, apprehension and terror making his body go rigid, and shook his head, clenching his fists at his sides. 

" _ Get it together. It's not real. _ " He hissed at himself, drawing in a deep breath to summon enough courage to walk into the room. But, as he took a step, his knees buckled and he only just caught himself on the door jam, whimpering softly. 

"Pietro," Clint urged, turning around to face the younger hero with a concerned glint in his eyes, "you're not okay. We can pull out if you want to." 

Pietro shook his head, "No. I can do this. It's just some people in some make-up. I should be okay." 

"It doesn't matter what you should or shouldn't be." Clint soothed, "It matters what you are and what you are is scared shitless." Pietro gave a wet-sounding laugh and Clint grinned, "You know, if you need anything, you only have to ask."

He knew what he needed to get through this, just as he did with horror movies at home, but he didn't know how to ask- normally, Clint just  _ knew _ what he needed. He'd hoped that it would be the same tonight. 

"Clint." He whimpered, trying to make his voice steady, but failing terribly. 

Clint smiled in encouragement, taking a step closer, "Yeah?" 

"Can you-? Can we-? I mean." Pietro growled in annoyance and tugged a hand through his hair, pulling harshly at the white-blond strands. 

"Breathe." The archer muttered, throwing Pietro a reassuring look, "Just ask. I'll never deny you." 

Pietro nodded and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, "I- um. Can you hold my hand?" 

Clint wordlessly held out his hand, smiling softly and beckoning him closer. Pietro practically ran to him, crossing the gap between them with quick strides, and grasped Clint's hand, smiling in relief when the older man intertwined their fingers, squeezing them softly in reassurance. 

The rest of the House passed by in a similar fashion. Pietro was scared out of his mind most of the way, but it was in the last room that the intensity of the room seemed to have been turned up to the highest level. 

They walked into the room, a basement with neat hooks on the ceiling and a dirty bath in the corner. The man in the tub was covered in blood and grime, screaming for help, begging them to release him and leave before  _ she  _ came back. 

Pietro froze, grip tightening around Clint's hand, and his eyes went wide as he caught movement from the shadows, a flash of dim light glinting on a metal object. A loud scream spread through the room as the lights began to flicker on and off. 

The woman stepped into the light. Her eyes were clouded over and blood splattered across her face. Her smile was twisted and demonic and she dropped her mouth open in a maniacal laugh, lifted a bloodied hand to trace her lips, smearing the redness across the flesh.

"Get out." She hissed, "Out!" She started up the chainsaw in her hands, smoke swirling into the room, "OUT!" 

Pietro couldn't move. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move his feet. His gaze was fixed on the woman and the chainsaw in her hands, wondering that if the fear didn't kill him, would she? 

"-tro?" Clint's voice sounded muffled and distant, too quiet to hear over the ringing in his ears, "-it. Get… here. -move?" 

Pietro didn't respond, every element of focus trained on the chainsaw-wielding woman. He could barely register Clint's hand in his anymore, everything seeming too distant. Every logical thought had left him, nothing in his mind able to tell him that it wasn't real. 

"Need… breathe." Clint again, voice distorted and too quiet. 

He hadn't realised that he hadn't been breathing until Clint had mentioned it and the order kick started something in his chest. He drew in a deep breath, like someone breaking the surface of the water, and just like that, his resolve broke.

He clutched onto Clint's shoulders, fingernails digging into the man's skin, and he shook uncontrollably, barely able to support himself. He fell forward against him, clenching his fists in the material of Clint's leather jacket, and buried himself in his chest. 

"Clint." Pietro whispered, tears pouring down his cheeks and lings struggling to draw in any oxygen. 

"I'm here." He soothed and it was the first coherent sentence that Pietro heard, "I'm here. You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you. You're okay. It wasn't real." 

"Clint." He whined, squirming helplessly against the older hero, fear seizing his heart and making it beat abnormally fast, even on top of his powers. 

"You need to breathe." Clint urged, cradling the back of Pietro's head, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck, "Deep breaths, baby." 

The endearment made Pietro's heart swell and he zeroed in on Clint's command, drawing in a few shaky breaths through his nose before releasing them again.

" _ Deep _ breaths, baby. Deep and slow. Like this, match me." Clint demonstrated by slowly inhaling and exhaling and Pietro did his best to copy, "You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you. Keep going, baby."

Pietro nodded and focused on his breathing, matching the rhythm into the rise and fall of Clint's chest, allowing his heartbeat to lull him into a blanket of security.

It took a few months to calm his breathing, which was still ragged and shallow, but calm enough that he wouldn't pass out from hyperventilation. 

"You okay now?" Clint whispered, slipping a hand down to cup Pietro's cheek, rubbing his thumb across the cheekbone. 

"I think so." Pietro breathed, voice low and soft, "I just want to go home." 

"Then, we will." Clint replied, lifting Pietro into his arms to carry him into their car, lowering him into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver's seat. 

By the time they made it back to the Tower, Pietro was asleep and Clint felt a swell of protectiveness in his chest. He picked Pietro up, cradling him close as he journeyed to his floor and laid him out on the bed, smiling when he nuzzled happily into the sheets. 

He tugged off Pietro's trainers, throwing them somewhere near the door, before pulling off his own boots and jacket before tumbling into the bed beside the blond. 

Pietro immediately shuffled closer, in that land between sleepfulness and awake, and curled himself against the archer's chest with a happy murmur. 

Clint dropped a kiss into his hair, "You okay?"

Pietro grinned sleepily and nodded, accent thicker with tiredness as he spoke, "Wan' take you out." 

"Was that a threat?" Clint teased, softly scratching the top of Pietro's head. 

The blond snorted and half-heartedly slapped Clint's shoulder, "On date. Not with gun." 

"That's tomorrow's problem, baby. Sleep now." The older man soothed, pulling Pietro impossibly closer. 

He hummed softly in agreement, "Like it when you call me that. But, you sleep too." 

"I will." Clint promised and, sure enough, fell asleep shortly after Pietro did. 


End file.
